


Fate

by silent_owl



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 19:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_owl/pseuds/silent_owl
Summary: A thick silence lay over the ruins, only broken by the high shrieks of the birds. And it was amidst this scene of death and destruction that suddenly an unexpected noise was heard. A sudden shiver ended the darkness imprisoning one of the presumably dead. With a loud moan a young man lifted himself up and kicked the lifeless body of an orc aside. His head was spinning and his body screaming with pain.





	1. Chapter I: Ruins

**Preface**

 

This One shot came to be because of all the inspiration I drew from my travels around New Zealand, where the world of Middle Earth once again came to life for me. I love the movies and the books, but be warned, I am not too familiar with the Silmarillon or any historical events before the Hobbit and until the Lord of the Rings. In case you find any discontinuities please ignore them, unless they disturb the flow of the story.

The other reason why I wrote this One Shot is that I most likely will never put down Emrim’s full story and his adventures with Bilbo and Thorin’s party. Nevertheless I very much like him as a character and wanted to introduce him to the world!

Please don’t judge me for the poor excuses of elven names used in this story. I tried to think of any decent ones, but I couldn’t. Thus, love them for who they are and not for their silly names.

Warning: I’m not a native speaker!

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The sun was rising in the east, illuminating the vast plains south of the Bruinen. Not many merchants dared to travel these lands and even less men still lived in this area. Villages were scarce and life hard. In a distant past these lands had been flourishing and a place of bonding. Elves, dwarves and men lived here, working hand in hand, ignoring old scars and giving friendship and understanding a chance. Yes, indeed, it had flourished in the past, but wars and raids had destroyed the peace and beauty of these lands. But it was not only the shadow of the past keeping folks away from these parts. Orc raids had grown in number over the past years, so that yet again these lands had become dangerous.

And thus the great white rocks standing tall atop the grassy hills, looking over the plains, had witnessed yet another tragedy. Shortly after nightfall a pack of orcs, in an unusual number, had attacked the little settlement that had tried to reclaim this ancient home against all odds. Who could, had fled the scene, leaving those less lucky behind. Screams had echoed over the plains for hours after that. But they were all silenced in the end, each and every one. The last resistance fell shortly after midnight.

Now, with the rising sun, birds began to swarm the scene, longing for a first taste of dead flesh. In the air hang the smell of burned wood and flesh. Slashed bodies lay on the ground. Men and orcs all horribly disfigured in their death. Burned down houses, smashed in doors, mothers clanging to their children even in death. In the distance bodies of horses could be seen next to a looted carriage. There was nothing left, not even the flesh on the bones of the pitiable beasts.

 

A thick silence lay over the ruins, only broken by the high shrieks of the birds. And it was amidst this scene of death and destruction that suddenly an unexpected noise was heard. A sudden shiver ended the darkness imprisoning one of the presumably dead. With a loud moan a young man lifted himself up and kicked the lifeless body of an orc aside. His head was spinning and his body screaming with pain.

It took a second until his eyes adapted to the daylight and his head stopped spinning enough so he could focus on his surroundings. With a feeling of deep frustration and the icy sting of loss, he looked around, avoiding every familiar face. But there was one he just couldn’t ignore. The face of a young girl staring into the distance. A heavy sword had slashed her back open, exposing the backbone and splattering her blood all around her. Death had come swiftly, hopefully before any of the gruesome wound’s pain had reached her conscious. He had tried to safe her, had struggled through the pain to reach her. However, in the end a heavy blow to the head had forced him into darkness.

Everything he had come to love about this place was gone. The houses were reduced to rubbles, the warm familiar faces lying all around him, drained of every ounce of colour, their warmth stolen and the light in their eyes forever lost. Many had greeted him with suspicion when he first arrived in the little settlement. But they had come to respect him for the work he was willing to do and the protection he could offer against smaller orc packs.

But nothing had prepared them for what had happened last night. He had tracked down a smaller pack in the mountains on one of his rounds, but what he’d found had filled his heart with terror. The ground had been plastered with tracks. As swift as his horse could manage to run he hurried back to the village, screaming warnings and urging them to abandon the village. They hesitated. Of course they did. The houses had been poor, but this had been their home nonetheless.

With the night, the orcs had swapped over them like waves crashing against the shore. Nothing could stop them, no axe, no bow, no pitchfork. Some managed to cling to live a little longer, paying a high price. At least those who fell first didn’t have to watch their family and friends slain before their very eyes. And he, though he had tried to slay as many foes as possible, still hadn’t managed to save one live. He just had drawn the wrath of the foul beasts upon himself.

 

So how come he was the only one still alive? He certainly didn’t consider himself lucky. This was probably just the beginning of a slow and painful death. He only had to turn his head to feel the two arrows stuck in his back to move and sending agonizing waves up and down his spine. A joyless grin surprised his lips and made him look like a mad man. At the same time the skin on his face tightened and the bloody crust that had just barely managed to still the blood flow from the deep cut over his eye broke apart.

Seconds later he felt warm blood dripping from his jaw again joining the dark spots on his clothes. He had only a few bandages on him and he’d be lucky if there were any herbs around to help with the pain. And how could he forget about that ugly sensation of a bone not being where it ought to be? The constant throbbing pestering his mind coming from his right ankle wasn’t really something he could ignore.

His thoughts were interrupted for a second as a black bird appeared in his field of vision, dark eyes fixed on him and reflecting the ruins behind him. The beast took two more steps and only retreated a few meters when he tried to chase it away with his hand. The answer was a scratchy cry that sounded awfully like laughter. “Get lost!”, he cried at the other spectators swarming around him, “I’m still alive!” He couldn’t bring himself to say they could easily find something else. He couldn’t bear seeing the birds picking away at the eyes of the corpses around him.

Back to his ankle, he reminded himself, desperately trying to occupy his mind with any task. He had two choices in this matter. Ignore whatever damage his joint had sustained and look for a branch that would support him or trying to fix his ankle, probably alarming every orc in three miles in the process with his agonized screams and then looking for a branch again. The first option seemed more favourable in this situation, but leaving the joint as it was, he risked loosing the leg after spending hours in a delirious state. In case it was an open fracture anyway.

“Let’s face it”, he hissed through his clenched teeth, “That’s probably the deepest shit I’ve ever gotten myself into.” He had been wounded in battle before, but never to this extend. And never left all alone in the wilderness. Okay, there had been this one time on the Great Road South a couple of years back. Curse those damn merchants that had just left him there to die! If he ever ran into those poor excuses of human beings again, he’d beat the living shit out of them. Whatever, this was probably going to be his end. He had no idea how to sufficiently treat himself and get to the next village.

He fumbled the knife from his waist which miraculously escaped the looting orcs and stared down at his foot. His precious sword of course was gone. “Let’s see what you have to offer”, he tried to solely focus on the task at hand. Sweat was pouring down his face and his hand was shaking, but he somehow managed to get rid of the boot and get a closer look at his ankle. “Well, lucky me”, he laughed a humourless laugh, “Dislocated and broken, but not open. That’s a start.” However, swollen as the joint was, it was still absolutely useless.

And the fun part was just about to begin. Relocating joints was always an ungrateful task. He didn’t mind hearing grown up, battle proved men cry like little babies, but often enough an involuntary twitch would land him a foot or fist in the face or elsewhere. To hold someone down obviously had a different meaning in some people’s head. Well, he shouldn’t be able to punch himself in the face. The problem was that it required quite a bit of strength and precision. Both things he didn’t have right now, but leaving the foot as it was, just wouldn’t do. He barely felt his toes. “Well, here goes nothing!”

Seconds later his screams were heard probably a mile away, presenting a nice invitation to any orc or other creature in the closer proximity as expected. Damn it, even the crow he’d chased away earlier started to give him those creepy looks again. It even stopped hacking away at the man right next to him for a second. He had to admit, there sure wasn’t any fresher meal around.

His foot looked more natural in this position and blood flowed back to his toes, leaving the sensation of a slight tingling behind, but that didn’t really bring him any relief. The pain had stars dancing in front of his eyes and he felt his consciousness fleeting. “Come on”, he groaned and tried to master up any strength left to stay conscious. However, he failed and before he could do anything else, it was dark again.

 

He was woken an uncertain amount of time later by the sound of horses. Well at least that’s what he suspected, but he’d never heard horses dancing over the ground like fairies. And with all the rocks in the ground they should make a lot more noise. Suddenly they came to a stop not far from where he lay. Words were spoken he didn’t understand. They sounded nothing like westeron or any other language of men and he encountered quite a few different forms on his travels. It was not dwarfish neither, that he would have understood. And dwarves sure enough didn’t ride on full grown horses.

Something in the back of his mind told him that those elegant words, that had a certain tune to them like a song, had to be elfish. He had never met an elf, but from what he knew they were an elegant, ancient and arrogant folk, not involving themselves in anything that didn’t directly concern them. He remembered hearing about elves being seen every now and then in these lands, but he never expected to actually meet them.

Too much thinking. His head felt like it would burst open any time. A involuntary moan escaped his mouth and the conversation around him stopped. With an excruciating effort he forced his eyes open and revealed a red twilight all around him. Well, not all around him, what was a bit confusing at first until he realised some of the blood of his head wound must have sipped into one of his eyes. And he also noticed that he was luckily lying on his side. At least his fall hadn’t driven the arrows deeper into his flesh. Still he felt a burning sensation coming from his back. Seemed like his luck finally ran out.

Light footsteps made their way towards him and with it thin leather boots appeared before him. He could also make out some dark, blueish trousers with fine embroidery. As the elf kneeled down beside him, their eyes finally met. He didn’t say anything to him, but there was a calm expression in those dark, unfathomable eyes. Together with the fine features he seemed somehow ageless. The elf seemed a good deal taller than himself, with long, dark hair that reminded him of the bark of old trees.

The elf indicated for him to lay still and don’t move. Well, he certainly didn’t intend to do that any time soon anyway. He heard him call out and saw him wave his hand, probably to get help. Hopefully to get help. Though he really didn’t think he had any solid reason to be afraid of them.

Shortly after he had called someone approached on a white horse. The rider didn’t dismount, but at least he spoke words he could understand. “Are you the sole survivor of this village?”, he asked and the western tongue seemed strangely unfitting and too rough for his voice.

“If you haven’t picked anyone else up”, he forced his shoulders to imitate a shrug, “Then I guess I am.” His voice sounded forced and it hurt his rips to take deeper breath.

“What is your name?”, the elf further asked.

He sincerely tried to get up enough to get a better look at the elf on the horse, but he simply couldn’t. There just wasn’t enough strength left in him. All he managed to do was to send waves of pain through his body, aggravating his breathing. At least the elf right beside him showed a somewhat concerned look. “I am called Emrim, son of Elam and Farela”, Emrim answered panting. “Have you found other carriages further down the road?”

“We have found others lying dead on the street about two hours from here. One carriage and three slaughtered.”

Emrim closed his eyes for a moment. Elena, Kalib, Erana. So they were all dead. He had hoped until this moment that at least they had escaped. They had invited him into his house, whenever his ways had lead him to the village and he had befriended their grown up daughter. A friendship he had cherished that was now lost forever. And he couldn’t do anything to change their fate. If only he could have saved at least one of them. But total annihilation? He failed them all!

For a moment tears welled up, but he pushed them down, trying to fix his mind on anything that would offer him distraction and such relief of the grieving pain that clang like ice to his heart. “Have you managed to track down the pack of orcs?”, he asked, wishing every last of those orcs to get slashed to pieces. An arrow to the head was a far too merciful death for them. And armoured as those two elves were, they certainly weren’t just here for hunting sport.

“The majority of our company is currently headed towards the misty mountains to hunt those beasts down. Rest assured, your kin will be avenged.”

The words of the white rider gave him some peace indeed. Still, at the thought of those monsters possibly escaping unscathed set a fury ablaze inside of him he never felt before. Or was it the fever? All of a sudden he couldn’t tell anymore. His mind became fuzzy and his thoughts started to drift away once more.

Again words were exchanged in elfish. After the conversation was presumably finished, the white rider dismounted and kneeled next to his kin. His greyish eyes searched his body, resting a little longer where blood had discoloured his cloth or cuts could be seen. Finally his gaze rested fully on Emrim’s face. “My lord has instructed us to offer whatever help we can to the survivors of this village. Your wounds are grave, but seldom have I lost in a fight for life and I shall not fail yours.”


	2. Chapter II: Grief

Alean, as the rider had introduced himself, instructed the other elf, Vahel, his cousin, as far as he could tell, to hold him steady and then began, what Emrim only recalled too well. To prevent the flesh from tearing too much while pulling out the arrows, he used a knife to cut the inflamed skin beforehand. The young man struggled against the elves grip and bit down hard on to the piece of leather stuffed into his mouth. Both arrows had ragged heads made to remain in whatever unlucky body they hit.  
Next they pressed down hard on the wounds to stop the bleeding, further maltreating his wrecked body, but as a healer he knew treatment wasn’t the most pleasant experience one could wish for. Thus he swallowed whatever curse was trying to escape his clutched teeth. There was hardly any sensation apart from pain left in his body. And it got even better when they smeared some herbs over the arrow wounds. The burning sensation nearly drove him back into darkness, but some foolish part of his consciousness decided it was still willing to cling to reality. He cursed his sturdy constitution. It was a pity he already relocated his joint. That for sure would have knocked him out!  
“I am impressed and concerned at how much pain you can bear, Emrim, son of Elam”, Alean spoke in his clear voice again, “Though I would rather wish for you to rest.”  
Emrim muffled something into the leatherpiece in his mouth. Though when he took it out, his answer sounded somewhat polite. “Exactly my thoughts, but I can be surprisingly stubborn.” There had been some very amusing instances in his past. Good stories, though maybe not fit for elven ears.  
For a split second Emrim could have sworn to see a grin curling the elf’s lips, but a second later Alean already instructed Vahel to get something from the horse. When he returned, he was loaded with more clean linen. They mended the deep cut on his forehead, the gashes on his arms and in his side, splinted his broken ankle, but still Alean seemed discontent. “I have tended to your wounds, but the poison in your blood is what concerns me most. I am not unfamiliar with this kind, but right now, there is nothing more I can do for you.”  
The young man had a good look at himself. “I’d say you did a pretty damn good job.” Ah, his habit of swearing came through. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so casual or disrespectful.”  
Alean dismissed it with a slight wave of his hand: “Never mind. It is quite refreshing to deal with men for a change. It seems your kind is very honest, whether you intend to or not.”  
How innocent, Emrim thought, It’s probably better if he’d never got to deal with dwarves. “Well, I prefer being honest. Although I admit, I can be an asshole from time to time.” His first encounter with an elf and he was already enjoying himself. Well, as much as he could anyway.   
This time Alean couldn’t hide a short laughter. For a brief moment it drove the concern from his features, what Emrim much preferred. He absolutely hated it for others to worry about him. Although he was a little suspicious why those two seemed to care so much about him already. Their behaviour just wouldn’t fit that indifferent attitude elves were supposed to have towards the other races. Superstition, stereotypes? Whatever, he was going to build his own opinion.  
As soon as Alean had regained his composure, his face again turned to a more serious expression. “We should get going before nightfall. The agreement was to return to the main company, if nothing could be done for the villagers. And as much as it grieves me, but there is nothing we can do for now.” The elf must have noticed Emrim’s grim expression as he quickly added: “Others will return to burn the orcs and bury the dead.”  
The feeling of sorrow and helplessness almost consumed Emrim in this moment. As much as he wanted to do something, he knew he wasn’t strong enough to honour any of the villagers in his current state. Thus, he only had one request. “You said you found a carriage further down the road?” Alean nodded. “Take me there. I have known those people for quite some time. I want to at least apologize to them.”  
“There was nothing you could have done”, Alean answered softly and with pity in his eyes.  
“Bullshit!”, Emrim clutched his teeth and fought down the anger and grief again, “I betrayed them, betrayed their trust in me. An army of orcs and I only found their tracks when it was already too late.”  
“They come from the mountains. There was no way of telling when and in what number they would...”  
“Do me a favour and just shut that mouth of yours for a second!” He immediately regretted his words, but he was powerless against the storm raging inside of him. In this very moment, he wanted to hate himself and he certainly didn’t want to listen to any reason.  
Alean just nodded and he couldn’t tell whether he had offended the elf or not.  
“I am sorry. You saved my life and this is how I thank you. I let my anger consume me.” Helpless as he was, he hid his face and sorrow behind his bruised hand, taking a few controlled breaths to calm down again. “I am ready to go.”  
“Then we will make haste.” Alean turned away from him and Emrim was sure he really did hurt his feelings. Great, now he had to figure out a way to properly apologize to an elf and a bottle of fresh brewed beer probably wasn’t going to do the trick. 

Without protest he let himself be lifted onto one of the horses, trying to work through the pain exploding all over his body. Sweat was pouring down his face and his breathing heavy. He set before Vahel, the better horsemen as Alean admitted without envy. “It is unlikely that either of them will drop you, but if you find the strength, hold on to the saddle.”  
Emrim nodded. There wasn’t anything else he possibly could.  
They journeyed on for a while, through patches of light forests, following a clear, silver river that would eventually meet up with the Bruinen. Everything here was painfully familiar to Emrim. He had fished here with Erana and some of the boys from the village and when he was sure no one was watching him, he’d occasionally take a bath here and refresh himself. He could even spot the stonering in which he had prepared a light dinner once. Here everything remained unchanged, as if nothing happened.  
A few miles further down the tramp they finally came upon the looted carriage. Emrim had tried to braze himself for this, but he had failed miserably. As soon as he spotted Eranas lifeless body in the dirt, the torn skirt, he pushed himself of the horse, disregarding his injuries, everything. Limping, crawling, he made his way to her, reaching for her cold limps. He knew she was gone, but it was like some part of him needed proof.  
He gently removed a few strands of her dark hair from her face to look her into the eyes. Was there pain in them, anger, resentment? What did she have to go through in her last moments? He didn’t dare to take a closer look at her exposed legs. He knew very well what that meant, but he forced himself not to imagine it. Shivering, clinging to her, he closed her eyes and wept.  
Scattered all around him were the remains of the wooden carriage. The horse was gone, belongings covering the ground, though only what had no value to the orcs. Elena lay just a few feet away. It looked as if she’d tried to reach her daughter, but an arrow had struck her down. Kalib had been crushed beneath the carriage, probably when the horse had gone mad and fled in panic. Pale bones stuck out of his right leg. His mouth was wide open, trying to force out one last, desperate scream or warning.  
A gentle touch on his shoulder freed him from his dark prison, but at the same time he leaped up, letting the lifeless body fall from his arms, trembling and nearly falling over Erana, if not for Vahel’s quick reaction. The quiet elf slung one arm around his waist and supported his weight with what surprisingly seemed no effort.  
Emrim almost stared in shock at him, not able to process why they suddenly were here, though he knew he and Alean had been with him the whole time. A simple fact, but his thoughts were in disarray and he felt terribly dizzy.  
“Breath slowly”, Alean hurried over and grasped his face in both hands, “You wanted to bury them, do you remember, Emrim?”  
He did, or rather, he remembered it the moment Alean mentioned it. Emrim hadn’t realized his breathing had become so fast and heavy. It took him several minutes to calm down and drive back the stars dancing before his eyes. He was terribly afraid his feelings would overwhelm him again if he dropped his guard even for the briefest of moments. And there was something else. He began to feel terribly weak and disoriented.   
“I need to rest”, he muttered.  
Vahel helped him sit down a few meters from the carriage in the shadow of a low tree. When had the sun found its way through the clouds? Was it cloudy? He couldn’t tell anymore. Alean kneeled down before him, gently touching his forehead as trying not to aggravate him.  
“It is as I feared”, he sighed, “The fever is rising quickly. We should not stay here too long, yet I know you will not be able to rest unless you have seen their souls off.” They again fell back into elfish and Alean made gestures with his hands as if to describe something. In the end Vahel went away and Alean sat down right next to him, but not before taking off his cloak and placing it over Emrim in one flowing movement. “They must have been very dear to you.”  
“They have... I have seen men and dwarves die in battle, but never before a close friend.” His throat was awfully dry. He wasn’t the kind of man to get all emotional. Until now he’d been able to brush of the death of others, keeping it as far from his heart as possible. He was a mercenary, there was no room for sentiments. But death had robbed this family of their life without giving them any chance. It was cruel, inhuman, unfair. Maybe this was why he had always separated himself from everyone else. He had tried to protect himself.

When Vahel returned, he carried a few herbs his cousin processed into a thick, muddy liquid he somehow managed down Emrims throat. The young man coughed and cursed the bitter taste, but he didn’t let himself spill even one drop. And while he leaned against the trunk of the tree, he watched the two elves arguing about what to do. He knew Alean wanted to fulfil his wish and bury Kalib, Elena and Erana, but he knew as well as Vahel they didn’t have the time.   
Would they mind to be burned? Of course he never talked to them about their death. Why would he? He wanted them to live and grow old, especially Erana. He even knew she’d been in love, though with whom she wouldn’t tell him. “Burn them”, he finally raised his voice, “I can’t make you waste any more time. I know that. The sun will be setting soon and who knows if those orc’s come back for a second round tonight.”  
“If that is truly what you think?”, Alean looked at him with kind eyes.  
“You’re too kind for your own good or maybe that’s just some kind of elf thing, I don’t know. Burn them and let’s leave this dead place.”  
Alean and Vahel tried to pick up the necessary wood as quickly as possible and it pained them to cut down a few of the nearby bushes. Emrim could tell by the looks in their eyes. Yet he was unbelievably grateful. Most men would have fled, caring only about their own safety, but those two pretty elves stayed for his sake and wasted time collecting firewood. There was no way he could ever repay them.  
Only an hour later the flames already reached for the dead bodies. They had wrapped them in whatever blanket they had found and Emrim had picked some flowers from the riverbed to place on the heart of each one of them. He didn’t know their traditions in this matter, but he sincerely hoped this was at least close to an honourable funeral.   
While he was still watching, Alean began to hum a melody and Vahel added verses in elfish, fine and full of sorrow. The mercenary of course didn’t understand a single word, but he felt like he knew what it was about nonetheless.  
They watched the flames grow higher for a while, but in the end they had to leave.   
“Thank you!”, Emrim turned to both with tears in his eyes, “I will never forget this, not as long as I’m alive.” And it was with these words that his body gave in and he let himself be consumed by darkness once more.


	3. Chapter III: Healing

His first return to daylight and reality was accompanied with a feeling of utter disorientation. He couldn’t even begin to wonder where he had been brought to. His hands touched expensive cloth and the ceiling was richly ornamented. Never in his life had he laid eyes on such mastery, though the dwarves were incredible masons of their own when it came to stone.

  
The sun was high in the sky and sent its light into the room he was lying in. The curtains were swayed by a light breeze and the air filled with the faint scent of fresh, clear waters and a myriad of different flowers in full bloom. The smell calmed him and eased the soreness in his body that came back to his consciousness.

  
Slowly he began to notice more details, like the varies types of phials, bottles and boxes with herbs and medicine resting on a table on the other side of the room. There was also a chair next to his bed and a bowl with water. Now that he spotted the bowl he could feel the sensation of a wet towel resting upon his forehead and wet bandages wrapped around his lower legs. _The fever must’ve been pretty bad._

  
His wounds were dressed in new, white linen and the splint around his ankle had been replaced by a sturdier version. No way he could move it, even if he tried. Everything looked well executed. Well, as far as he could tell anyway. He wasn’t exactly the best healer around, though he knew a lot more than the average men or dwarf.

  
Thinking was wearing him out, what felt pathetic, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He tried to recollect his last memories and figure out where he was. Alean had not mentioned the name of his master, just that he had asked him and Vahel to come to the village and look for survivors. The two elves had treated him. Then they had set out to… somewhere. Well he clearly remembered riding for a while. But then? This was when his memory began to become all fuzzy. Surely about the same time his fever had gone from bad to worse. They had passed some familiar spots and finally spotted the looted carriage in the distance.

  
_Erana!_ The image of her dead body popped up in front of his eyes again and as it drifted away, he tried to reach for her, lifting himself from the bed.

Bad idea! Very bad idea!

  
The sudden movement had jolts of pain shooting through at least three parts of his body. He groaned and gasped for air. Panting his body fell back onto the silky cloth. With some effort he managed to lay an arm across his eyes and blend out the sunlight. The darkness calmed him, made it easier not to remember. To remember what those beasts did to Erana and her family. Pathetic! There was no running away from his memories!

  
But he tried, focussing on the pain to keep him distracted. The message was clear. He shouldn’t attempt moving for at least three more days. What left him more or less absolutely useless. And how he loathed to depend on others! Yet another reason why he had become a mercenary. Someone who wasn’t bound to any particular place, always working alone. But, he wouldn’t consider himself a totally lost cause when it came to social interactions. He had some he’d consider friends.

  
_And I just lost three of them!_ Man, was he pathetic.

 

 

Shortly after that he must’ve dozed off again because he didn’t remember anyone entering the room and he most certainly wasn’t alone anymore when he came to his senses again. It was just a shadow at first, until the vague figure gained more detail. He didn’t know who that tall elf was, but he instantly knew that he was someone important. There was an aura of awe and respect emanating from him.

He was clad in a dark-grey robe, flowing like silver from his shoulders. It had a simple beauty about it that was worthy of a king. The dark hair framed the sharp, yet gentle face and was braided in the front into thin braids, a silver crest resting upon the head. Was this the lord Alean had mentioned? But what did he know about elves? It could be anyone really.

  
However, at least now he was absolutely sure that this had to be the house of the elves. Probably a place not too many men had laid their eyes upon through the ages. He’d heard stories about a place called Rivendell, but nothing detailed, nothing that could have led him here on his own.

  
“You are awake”, the elf said turning around again to continue grinding up some herbs. Again the room was filled with a calming scent. “And while it is good to see your strength returning, Emrim, son of Elam, I must ask you to remain in bed. The wounds on your body are still fresh and fragile. Your last attempt left the linen stained with blood. We had to undress most of your wounds and tend to them again.”

  
No wonder considering the nasty, sharp pain. “I’m sorry, it just came over me. Won’t happen again.” Was that too informal? Normally he didn’t pay too much attenti

on to his speech, but his tongue had slipped with Alean multiple times and now that bad habit felt even worse. As he explained then, he always spoke his mind often disregarding etiquette and status.  
“I was surprised when Alean came to me only a few hours ago to report that you had awoken. With the fever breaking only this morning, I had expected you to be asleep for at least another couple of days. But yet again the resilience of man amazes me. And considering for how long I am already dealing with your kind, I should not be.”

  
Yet another elf amazed by him. It seemed a childhood spend among sturdy dwarves had its very own advantages. The hint of humour in the elves words nearly made him laugh, but he knew very well his rips would kill him for that!

  
For a while he observed the elf mixing up herbs and dissolving a greyish powder in a clear, slightly yellowish liquid. After a few minutes he realized that he had yet to ask who exactly was tending to him. And he surely hadn’t thanked him yet for his care. A little embarrassed he cleared his throat with a short cough: “I hear that Alean has already introduced me, but nonetheless I’d rather introduce myself on my own this time. My name is Emrim, son of Elam and Farena.”

  
In a flowing motion the elf turned around, in his hand a glas filled with a disgustingly coloured liquid. “And I am Elrond, Lord of this house, Imladris as we call it and Rivendell as you men named it.”

Emrim had suspected as much, but it still shocked him that Lord Elrond personally would tend to his wounds. It felt a little like stumbling into one of those strange stories men exchanged on the road when the night was deep and the fires burning low. “I guess it’s finally time I remember my manners”, he muttered, again coughing to make sure his voice would sound half decent. “I am very grateful for your help, Lord Elrond. And since Alean and Vahel already tended to me and helped me sending off my friends, I am not sure if I can ever repay you for any of it.”

  
“The elves may have secluded themselves, but they have not forgotten how to care for others. There is no debt to repay, although there might come the time when I will ask you a favour.” There was a kind smile on the ageless face that immediately bridged the distance between them. His aura remained awesome, but it made it easy to forget his manners. It was like talking to someone he knew, not a stranger.

  
Before they continued their conversation, Elrond made him swallow the potion. As expected it tasted awful. But he managed to drink it without any complains or having to stop midway just to make sure he wouldn’t gag. It felt strange having the lord of the house helping him sit up and lay down again. But the herbs sure did their trick. Soon after he felt the pain subside, but it also clouded his mind.  
“Rest now, we speak of everything important as soon as you have recovered. Unless there is a pressing matter that allows no delay?”

  
He looked at him patiently, but there was nothing more to talk about right now, was there? Now that he gave it a thought the most important question came back to him and the memories again clang to his heart like ice. “What about the village and the orc pack?”

  
“We have haunted down the orc pack and slaughtered them, if that gives you any peace.” This expression in his eyes. Was it pity? No, it felt more like genuine solicitousness. And indeed it gave him at least some peace to know that those monsters got what they deserved, even though it pained him nonetheless that he didn’t do it himself. “As for the village, we have buried the dead like it is custom among men.”

  
“Thank you”, Emrim somehow got the words out without letting his voice break. He would never forget this. And he’d make sure to repay this debt, no matter the cost.

  
The mercenary couldn’t tell if it was the herb’s doing or just the weak state of his body overall, but from one moment to the next he felt terribly dizzy and tired. Obviously long talks were still out of the question for him, no matter how sturdy his constitution seemed to be. Probably some nasty aftereffects of the poison as well. Man, he had seen enough men succumb to thosedamn poisons. He’d give everything to know how to counteract it. Maybe he should ask if they could teach him, but not now. Right now he just wanted some peace and quiet and a good night’s rest.

  
“I will take my leave now”, Elrond said with the hint of a smile, “Someone will come by again later to check on you. For now I am content to know that there is nothing more to worry about.”

  
So he was out of the woods then, good to know. Since he didn’t find the appropriate words he just lay down and waited until the lord of the house left the room. “I really could use some of this elven magic myself.”


End file.
